In the same Louisiana-Texas alley where I saw the clock on Dec. 1, 2021, something surprised last week—and I only noticed because the empty lot before the shadowed green screen is clear of obstructions.
The Featured Image comes from Leica Q2 on Jan. 6, 2022. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/5.6, ISO 100, 1/800 sec, 28mm; 1:36 p.m. PST. Locale: San Diego’s University Heights district.
Along Madison Avenue, in San Diego’s University Heights neighborhood, my wife and I passed by one of the remaining Christmas displays—and an elaborate one at that. I used Leica Q2 to capture the Featured Image. […]
The last post of the year fulfills one of my personal resolutions for 2021: Publish something here every day, and I have. The process proved beneficial for honing storytelling, which often constructed around one (or more) of my photographs. Rarely did I sit down to write with clear topic in mind; often the prose unfolded as a storytelling process anchored, sometimes loosely, by the illustration.
Similarly, my continual need to have something to write about encouraged me to look for objects to be topics, improving my photographic craft, too. I lack the sense of composition and style necessary to be a professional shooter. My eyes instead see stories in the things I capture. I stare in awe at the pros producing photos as art; I can’t.
End of year is a good time to take out the trash, so to speak, to clear out the past and prepare for the future—opportunity to start Jan. 1, 2022 fresh and tidy. That’s where I am on this wet Wednesday evening. But what if you literally can’t take out the garbage, as is the case for many San Diego County residents? Teamsters Local 542 is on strike with Republic Services, which my landlord unfortunately uses.
The Featured Image, taken today with iPhone 13 Pro, is outside the apartment building where we live. (Vitals: f/1.5, ISO 50, 1/2994 sec, 26mm; 11:22 a.m. PST.) I would like to thank my immediate neighbors for not massively overflowing the dumpster. You might think, looking at the pile, that I am being facetious. Not so. The sentiment is sincerely expressed. Stacks of bags and refuse elsewhere exponentially exceed this modest mess. My fellow residents show remarkable restraint.
Whenever walking by this mural, I often regret not photographing the lively, colorful Yipao Coffee outdoor café that once occupied this location. More importantly: What the place displaced—trees and lush green space that the (permanently closed) florist had used. Hence the irony, if you don’t see it yet, of “growing with passion”; because all that remains is dirt, on top of which vehicles park. Nothing green grows, nor the vitality of human interaction.
In late June 2018, I shared about the departure of Florabella, which had to abandon its 24-year commercial space after the landlord informed the owner that rent would triple effective July 1. I wondered: What will replace the florist? Well, Yipao took up residence in the not-long-later clearcut corner area. Interesting aside: John Adams disappeared and was discovered to be accidentally locked inside the closed floral shop, which Yipao used; perhaps for storage. He is among the “Cats of University Heights“; June 2019.
For reasons, I can’t guess, most of the kitties seen along Cleveland Avenue and profiled in this series are gone. Let’s review them. Those known to have moved away: Fresh; Levi; Mika; Mini; Misty; and Pepe. Likely moved: Black; Black and White; Leery; and Mellow. Not seen recently: Clover: Lilo; Pepper; and Sleepy. Status unknown: Bell; Hunter; and Mandy. Missing: Fess (sad story). Special mention: Roly Poly; (second cat to appear in the series; presumed moved); Priscilla (who disappeared before the series started). Still resident: Tortie. That’s only one for certain among 21, plus our newest inductee.
I used Leica Q2 to capture the Featured Image on Dec. 23, 2021. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/5.6. ISO 100, 1/80 sec, 28mm; 9:08 am. PST. For color, this fine feline earns nickname Cinnamon
The Georgia-Meade Bikeway, about which traffic circles I have negatively opined, nears completion—and certainly appears to be ready through the University Heights to Normal Heights portion. In observation, and preparation to write about the occurrence, I captured the Featured Image on Nov. 28, 2021. Vitals, aperture manually set for this and the two companion photos: f/8, ISO 100, 1/200 sec, 28mm; 9:59 a.m. PST.
The view looks down Meade Avenue from Georgia Street. The traffic circle at Alabama is clearly visible but barely the one at Louisiana two blocks beyond. Near the horizon to the right is the North Park water tower, which many locals regard as an essential navigational landmark.
The San Diego neighborhood where I live, University Heights, is a monument to secularism. The closest Jesus comes to being depicted or referenced anywhere is half his name in Christmas, prefaced by Merry, like on the, ah, Prideful trees that I wrote about two days ago.
So on this fateful Christmas Eve, I have no religious photos to share; no crosses, no nativities, nothing other than the stone snowman you may remember from two years ago. He made a 2020 appearance on the same property but brandishing a presidential political sign—and I did not approve. The fresh Featured Image comes from Leica Q2, two days ago. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/2.8, ISO 100, 1/500 sec, 28mm; 1 p.m. PST.
Last week, while walking along Panorama Drive, I passed by what seemed like the strangest holiday decoration: An inflatable, rainbow-colored Christmas tree. The next day, there were three. The day after, my wife and I walked over so that she could see. We found four more—not every one erect but all unmistakably identifiable even when deflated. This will be our fifteenth Christmas in this San Diego neighborhood, and I have never seen such signs like these.
As I opined on July 4th, about seeing more Pride flags than the Stars and Stripes, University Heights has undergone dramatic, observable changes since start of the SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 lockdowns in mid-March 2020. New residents, many of them Northern California escapees, are everywhere. Their emigration contributes to soaring rents and skyrocketing home sale prices. The newcomers also bring different values that are commiserate with adjacent Hillcrest, which is known as a gay enclave. But Pride holiday trees, all on the same street?
Where Madison Avenue ends, an expansive view begins—across Mission Valley below to the Pacific Ocean on the horizon. In the Featured Image, left of center, on the coastal area before the water, some of the rides at Sea World are visible.
The 95-percent crop won’t win awards for clarity; the task is beyond Leica Q2‘s reach. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/11, ISO 100, 1/80 sec, 28mm; 10:21 a.m. PST, Dec. 11, 2021. Location: San Diego Community of University Heights.
Finally, somebody puts these godawful traffic circles to good use. This afternoon, while walking along Louisiana Street, I came upon someone running around the edifice to poor transportation planning at Meade. The Featured Image is the first of four shots—all taken from the hip, using Leica Q2.
The person could be identified from any of the other three captures; not having permission to publish, I chose the back view; besides, sun is more pronounced in this one compared to the others. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/5.6, ISO 100, 1/1250 sec, 28mm; 2:23 p.m. PST; composed as shot.
The last issue of Nature—Vol. 600, No. 7887—awaits my reading attention. For this renewal cycle, publisher Springer raised my annual subscription price by 36 percent, pushing the cost beyond my budget.
I will miss the magazine but can’t complain. After the company stopped offering an iPad app digital edition four years ago, I phoned seeking alternatives and was presented with a half-off rate. While a discount remains, the new price is too steep when considering other subscriptions and weighing the value of each for the cost.